


Surrender

by kallistob



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Anger, Biting, Bleeding, Bruises, Con to Non-con, Crying, Deception, Dirty Talk, Fear, Flirting, Lube, M/M, Major Character Injury, Manhandling, Nipple Play, Panic Attacks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Trauma, Unsafe Sex, Violence, no proper preparation, none of these tags truly encompass the fic, please know that this is rape and know what you're getting into
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: “This is not about you, sweetheart,” Walter says. “This is about me, and only me. You can scream, you can beg, you can bleed to death for all I care. No one is coming to save you. You should just let yourself be used like the little slut you are. Understood?”-It is not unusual for Percival to stay late at the MACUSA to work. He breaks for coffee, and ends up meeting a new employee - a sweet, charming young man, responsive to his advances.But for Graves, what started out as harmless fun quickly turns into a nightmare.





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> I watched rape play videos yesterday, and I was overcome by the need to write this. It has been a challenge to do so. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Word edited but unbetaed.

The office is quiet. At this time of the night, Percival is the only one who still works, ink smeared all over his fingers and forearms as he files one paper after the other. He moves automatically, ignoring both the sleep stinging at his eyes, and his growling stomach. The last Aurors left a few hours ago.

The MACUSA past midnight feels like a different place altogether. Everything is too loud: the scratch of his quill over paper, the scuttle of paper mice as they hurry from his office to the President’s, the murmur of fabric as he uncrosses his legs and stretches. His back pops and Graves groans softly, casting a quick _tempus_ to know the time. _Half past two in the morning_. He can work a bit more, but coffee would help.

There is normally one other employee still present within the MACUSA, in charge of sorting out paperwork and delivering coffee for late workers such as him or the President. He scratches out a quick note to them on a discarded piece of paper, and sends it away. His body aches, his throat is parched and a familiar headache has bloomed behind his temple. Percival gets up, intent on moving around a bit to get his blood flowing. He takes a few steps around his office, then he yawns, so loudly that he is left bemused.

One look at his desk and his shoulders slump. He doesn’t want to get back to work, not just yet. _I’ll get that coffee for myself._ He vaguely knows where the cafeteria is, a couple of levels below the Aurors’ offices. Walking there won’t hurt him. Talking to another person won't either, provided the low graded night worker is in the mood for a bit of small talk. He'll take anything to distract him from what he still has left to do, before he can go home and rest. Mind made up, Percival exits his office, waving his hand distractedly behind him to ward it. The empty corridors resonate with each step he takes as he goes to the elevators.

He did not expect to meet anyone on the way, so it is a bit of a surprise to see another person ahead of him, walking in his direction. As the man comes closer Percival sees he hold a small tray in his hands, complete with a cup of coffee and a plate of biscuits. The employee must have received his note, then.

“Mr. Graves, sir,” the man says, stopping in front of him with a nervous smile. “Your coffee, just the way you wanted it.”

“Thank you,” Percival says, eyeing the newcomer up and down with a frown. He does not ring any bell, and Percival prides himself on knowing the face of every person who works at the MACUSA - his job requires it. “Have you been working here for a long time? I do not remember you.”

The man looks down, seemingly embarrassed. “Ah - no, sir. I was hired a week ago.”

“Alright. You can bring that coffee to my office.” He pauses. “Or perhaps the bullpen. For a change of scenery. Come.”

He lets the man pass in front of him, automatically placing his hand on the small of his back to guide him. The guy is slightly taller than him, with slicked blond hair and a strong jaw, and he flinches when Percival touches him. The Director immediately retreats. “Sorry. I tend to be very tactile with everyone, so I forget most people aren’t used to it.”

“No, it’s…” The man swallows, throat clicking. “I was just surprised. But I don’t mind. You. Touching me. Sir.”

He looks mortified by his own choice of words, red blooming high on his cheeks, but Percival perks up at that. _Interesting._ He hums, noncommittally, and resumes his position - his light touch becoming more intentional. The man doesn't protest.

Percival refrains from smirking. Young men like him, he’s known a dozen of them. Sweet things, eager to please. “How are you settling at the MACUSA so far, Mr….?”

“Davis, sir. Walter Davis. I like it, but the rhythm is very demanding.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Percival mutters. They’re near the bullpen now. Percival lets Walter go before him, and tells him to set the tray on the first relatively clean table he finds. “Did you take coffee for yourself?”

Walter looks surprised, and just a bit awed. “You want me to stay here?”

Percival shrugs, casually leaning against one of the tables. “I could use a bit of company, to be perfectly honest. It tends to get lonely in my office. Come on, make yourself comfortable.”

Intimidated, the younger man obeys, sitting in one of the chairs in front of Percival. Graves makes the cup of coffee float in the air until he can take it between his hands, sighing contentedly at the warmth it provides. Silence falls, but it is not uncomfortable. Walter’s stomach growls, and his new companion flushes deeply in embarrassment, ducking his head. Percival smiles at him. “Have you not eaten?”

“No, sir,” Walter admits. “Haven't had the time to before my shift began.”

“Will you be here all night?”

“Yes sir. Until five.”

“Then you need to eat, my boy. I would not want you to faint on me.” Percival straightens up to walk to the table upon which Walter set the tray - right behind him. Walter looks at him sideways as Percival takes a biscuit between his teeth, before holding the plate out towards him. “Take one.”

Walter does, receiving another smile in return. Percival stays where he is, standing next to him. Walter seems to hesitate, then he stands as well, perhaps to feel more equal.

“They’re good,” he says, though he barely tastes the treat. He is more attentive to the way the Director has taken to leaning against the edge of the table at his back, his legs and arms crossed. He looks up at Walter under his eyelashes, and licks his lips.

An invitation if Walter ever saw one.

“Quite.”

They stare at each other. Slowly, deliberately, Percival checks him out - eyes lingering on Walter’s mouth, then his crotch. There is a newfound determination in the young man’s face when their eyes meet again, and Walter takes a step forward, then another, until they’re but a breath apart. Percival welcomes him, trapped between the table at his back and the man at his front.

“Does the Director of Magical Security make it a habit to flirt with members of the staff?” Walter says, voice low, tilting his head. He places his hands on Percival’s hips, stroking him through his shirt. “Or am I just a privileged one?”

“You’re a gorgeous one,” Percival replies, grabbing him by the collar to finally kiss those full, pink lips. Walter makes a sound a surprise, his mouth parting for Percival’s tongue. He recovers quickly, hands coming up to cup Percival’s jaw.

Walter bites and tugs at his lower lip, hard enough for Graves to feel the sharp pain. “Ow!”

“Fuck, sorry,” Walter whispers, resting his forehead against Graves’. “Got carried away.”

“It's fine.” Percival licks his lips. “Do it again?”

Walter does. His rough kisses shouldn’t turn Graves on as much as this, but soon he finds himself dazed, aching beneath the fabric of his pants. He struggles to regain control of the situation as Walter licks into his mouth deeply, possessively, entirely differently from what Graves is used to. He turns his head to the side, and arches his back when he feels lips at his neck - sucking hard and searing. _Painful_. “Oh, _God_. Wait, wait, wait --”

Walter tangles his fingers into Graves’ hair and _tugs_ , drawing another moan from him. “No.” His voice is a low growl, and it leaves Graves feeling out of his depth.

Walter’s hands find his collar. Instead of unbuttoning his shirt he grabs both sides of it and _yanks_ , baring Graves from the neck down, ripping the piece of cloth in two. His hands are all over him, big and hot and branding; he urges Graves to sit up on the table and Percival follows, helplessly, arousal pulsing and throbbing.

Walter kisses him, again and again and Percival makes a noise of frustration, needing to think under the assault, because this is not how this is supposed to go. He places his hands on either side of Walter's neck, then his shoulders, and presses down _,_ down, down - using magic to make him kneel on the floor.

“Much better,” he says, breathing heavily. “Mercy Lewis. You’re a wild one, aren’t you? I love that. But here, sweetheart,” he cocks one brow, “We do it my way.”

Walter glares defiantly up at him, but one look at his crotch tells Graves all he needs to know about how much he enjoys this. Percival goes for the buttons on his own trousers, opening them slowly before hooking his thumbs in the top of his slacks and peeling them down his thighs. His rigid cock springs free, and Walter looks transfixed by it.

“That’s right,” Percival purrs, feeling much more at ease now that he's in control. “You know what you have to do, don’t you, Walter?”

The young man can’t answer, not with Percival’s magic pressing down on him like this. Percival takes himself in hand, giving his cock a few lazy strokes to relieve a bit of the tension. He pets the top of Walter’s head, then pushes him forward until his lips meet the head of his length. He lifts his magic around Walter, and the man obediently stays down, as he should. “Good boy. Very good. Open up.” Walter licks his lips, opens his mouth. “That’s it. “You have done this before, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Walter says. He wraps his hand at the base of Graves’ cock, and Percival hums in appreciation.

“Good. Make me come.”

“But Mr. Graves,” Walter drawls even as he begins to stroke him - the tightness somehow just right, but it is not what Percival asked for - “The thing is, I’ve knelt for one man in my life, and you are not him. So no. We’re going to do this the way _I_ want it, and you won’t be able to stop me.”

“What are you sayi -- _ah!_ ”

Walter surges up to _bite_ into the meat of Percival's stomach. Percival’s hands tighten in the man’s hair as he curls around him, moaning weakly as Walter sucks a bruise onto his skin. “Ow, _ah,_ hmm --” He shivers, feeling Walter give little licks to the sensitive spot he used to mark him and claim him with teeth and tongue. “Is… Is that your way?”

Walter rises up, eyes dark and lips curled up in a mocking smile. It reminds Percival of someone, that very expression, but he does not have time to ponder it before Walter is on him again.

Graves’ lips are swollen by the time he’s done with him, and he feels completely dazed, as though Walter had done much more than simply kiss and caress him. He responds clumsily to his attentions, and Walter chuckles before leaning down to take one of Percival’s nipples into his mouth. His lips close around it and he bites it gently, drawing a weak cry from the man above him.

Graves never had anyone do this to him before, and he hadn’t known it could so feel good, like this, to surrender to another person. He still feels unease, but it drowns in the pleasure Walter makes him feel when he flicks his tongue quickly over the sensitive nub, while twisting Percival’s other nipple with two fingers - making him buckle under the sharp sensation.

“Hmm. You’re gorgeous,” Walter murmurs against the shell of his ear, his hands continuing to tease and torture Percival. They drift lower, until the man is gripping his hips. “But I think it’s about time I take what is mine.”

Walter pulls him forward. Percival goes stumbling, and then he lets himself be turned around swiftly. Walter presses himself against him and Percival feels his arousal, hot and thick against his bare ass. He shivers, tendrils of doubt tugging at his mind.

“Wait -”

A hand clamps down on the back of his neck, another on his shoulder. He is pushed down, forced to bend over the Aurors’ desk. Percival bites the inside of his mouth. The weight of Walter leaves him. He hears the rustle of fabric behind him, and then something hard and wet, sliding between the cleft of his ass. Graves knows what it is. Cold dread fills him at the thought of what it all means - he doesn’t want this. He never agreed to this. He attempts to rise, but there’s a pressure at his back keeping him down, and it’s not Walter’s hands. His breathing quickens. He doesn't want it, he doesn't understand how Walter can control _him_ like this.

“Wait, no…” his voice is weak to his own ears, as though coming from far away. He doesn't know if it's magic or fear that ties his tongue and makes him unable to protest. He doesn't understand what's happening. This is not the way things are supposed to go.

“Oh, shut up,” Walter huffs, spreading something cool and wet against Percival's rim. Graves tries to twist away, breaking into a cold sweat. He hates the magic keeping him down, hates what he fears is happening. He trashes against Walter's hold, but the man merely chuckles at the sight of him. “I'd heard rumors you were MACUSA'S little lap dog, you know. Didn't realize how true they were. Silly me.”

Walter touches his ass appreciatively, his hands soft as he kneads the flesh. Percival’s whole body is tense. His heart races. He keeps trying to fight, his own magic feeble against Walter’s. This isn’t normal. He should be able to fight. He should be able to move.

_I think it’s about time I take what is mine._

Percival struggles harder, hating the hands all over his flesh. Walter makes a noise of disapproval, as if Percival was being unreasonable. He stills, and Percival feels almost relieved when he stops pretending to be gentle. Walter digs his nails into his flesh, and alarm courses through Percival, but it’s okay, he's known much worse, he can manage it. He needs to go, he can’t let Walter take what he wants. He doesn’t want it to happen.

His magic responds to his emotions, welling and boiling under his skin. Walter murmurs something under his breath, and just as quickly as Percival’s magic rose it crashes down. He hiccups, eyes wide and mouth open at the feel of _something_ inside him, slick and cool. His hole tightens instinctively and the liquid dribbles out of him. Above him, Walter whistles his approval, as if Percival wasn’t on the verge of having a panic attack at the alien sensation mixing with his fear and anger.  

Walter steps closer to him, pressing his front entirely against Percival’s back, smothering him. Percival feels his hard cock dig into his ass, close to his hole. He lets out a sound which might be a sob or might be a plea. He goes wild, writhing and squirming and trying to get away. He can’t get Walter off of him no matter how hard he tries. The other man closes his hands around Percival’s wrists, pinning him in place, his grip too tight. He breathes hotly in Percival’s ear, and it makes him feel nauseous. He can feel Walter move minutely, blindly searching for his entrance even as he nips at Percival’s earlobe. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want --

Walter groans as he slips inside him, and Percival chokes.

It hurts, it hurts, it fucking _hurts_ , his body doesn’t welcome the intrusion. Percival moves desperately, trying to get away even as he feels Walter slide inch by torturous inch inside him. Walter rolls his hips, forcing Percival to accept him inside his body, and the slick aids a bit. It still fucking hurts, _because he doesn’t want this._

There is no comfort in the soft, soothing words Walter whispers in his ear, no comfort in the hand leaving his wrist to caress his hair, freeing it of the product he uses to slick it back. Soft, silky strands fall on his forehead. All that matters to Percival is how his body throbs in pain, burning from the waist down.

He doesn’t understand how anyone could find this pleasurable. He wants it to end. Walter isn’t moving.

“Sorry,” Walter says. “I want to enjoy this a bit, but you’re making it difficult. I swear you’re the tightest hole I've ever had.”

Anger surges up inside Graves. He glares at Walter the only way he can from this position, twisting his head. He wishes looks could kill. He still can’t move. Walter smirks down at him, placing both his hands on the low of Graves’ back. He rolls his hips again, bottoming out. Percival bites his lips to avoid making a noise, not wanting to give Walter the satisfaction of hearing his distress. He is sweating. Walter pulls out, and Percival jerks, the drag of his cock almost more painful against his sensitive insides than the breach was. Walter lays above him again, using his weight, his leverage to pin Percival down. Breathing is difficult. Walter’s hand clamps over Percival's mouth. Percival doesn’t understand the gesture until the other man thrusts back in.

He screams.

He is unable not to, not with the way Walter abandons all pretense of kindness to reveal raw, brute force. He slams inside Graves, chasing his own pleasure as the inferno only worsens for Percival. He thrashes, eyes wide, his sobs muffled by Walter’s hand. He tries to bite it but it only makes Walter pull on his hair, almost bending Graves in two as he takes him, again and again and again. Walter tugs his shirt down to bite one shoulder, and Percival whimpers in pain. He can do nothing but take it. Walter slips out of him again, and Percival collapses against the table, his entire body trembling. Walter laughs.

“Damn, you’re bleeding.”

_I am?_

Walter grabs him by the scruff of his neck and takes him away from the desk, throwing him down. Percival falls on the floor, barely catching himself. His body shakes in fright, in pain. It is all that remains. He feels exhausted. He knows Walter is watching him. He wants to get away, he wants to escape him. He crawls on the floor, barely managing half a meter before a shadow looms over him.

“No, please, please don’t -”

“This is not about you, sweetheart,” Walter says. “This is about me, and only me. You can scream, you can beg, you can bleed to death for all I care. No one is coming to save you. You should just let yourself be used like the little slut you are. Understood?”

Graves doesn’t answer. Black spots dance in his vision, his heart loud like a drumbeat that resonates in his ears. He tries to move again but Walter kneels above him and sits on his back, stealing the breath from him.

“I said: understood?” His voice is a low growl, promising more pain, and Graves finds himself nodding, wide eyed and terrified. “Good. Don’t move.”

Walter lies down on him. Just like before, he claps his hand over Percival’s mouth, taking himself in hand with the other. Percival can’t breathe like this, with Walter's fingers obscuring his nose and mouth. He claws at it, trying to make Walter let go. He’ll be good, he’ll do anything Walter wants, but for that he needs to breathe.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” Walter mutters. “Fucking hell…”

His cock nudges Percival’s entrance. He lets out a loud sob. He can’t do this, not again, not again. Walter takes his hand and pins it to Percival's side as he slides home in one hard shove.

The pain is tenfold what Percival expected. His eyes roll back in their sockets. For a moment he goes limp, only able to bear it, his throat emitting noises he never knew he would be able to make. Walter crushes him with his weight. Percival goes down. The other man goes harder, faster, taking him roughly. Punishing. Bruising. _Hurting_. He tangles his hand in Graves’ hair and tugs his head back, spitting words of filth in his ear as he claims him. “Fucking high-class whore, that’s all you are, isn’t it? I bet - you - fucking - like - _this!”_

Each word is punctuated by a hard thrust. Percival is crying. He can’t bring himself to care about it, not until this is over. _It has to be over soon. There has to be an end to this._ His body is tight as a string, his nails claw at the floor, fists clenching and unclenching - trying to find something to hold on through the waves of pain.

His screams are loud in the empty space around them. He doesn’t understand how no one can hear him. He doesn’t understand why this is happening to him.

His throat is raw, but he isn’t able to stop. Each thrust is more painful than the last, and he only wants it to end. Walter stills, grunting in pleasure, rolling his hips slowly, letting Percival _feel_ him inside. “God, you’re so fucking _tight_. Could do this for day.” Another hard shove, for emphasis. “Percy, that feels good. You feel so good. Are you crying? Merlin, you are. This is awesome.”

Hard and fast again. Jabbing, pistoning Graves’ ass as though he was a mere object to use and discard once it is broken. “Bet no one did this for you, uh? _Fucking hell_. Will you fucking shut up?”

Graves shakes his head, cheeks wet with tears. Nausea wells up within him. His head is spinning. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take.

“Fuck, that - feels - so - _good_.” Walter pants above him, slowing down only to pick up pace again. “I'm gonna cum in your tight ass so you can feel me for days, you fucking slut. Perhaps I’ll come visit you again one night, what do you - ah, _god_ \-  what do you say?”

Terror washes down Graves’ spine. He chokes on a wail. Walter rams into him, losing his rhythm, hips stuttering. He thrusts in once, twice, and stills, coming with a drawn out moan. Percival feels his cock pulsing inside him, filling him.

He goes completely limp. He is only held up by Walter’s hand on his mouth, and the man kisses every inch of Percival’s skin he can reach as his orgasm receides. His softening cock is still inside, and it feels uncomfortable for both of them. With a grunt, Walter slips out and rolls over.

Graves doesn’t move. He can’t move, not until he is sure Walter is gone.

Walter comes close, draping his arm around Percival’s shoulder and leaning in to kiss his cheek. It makes him shudder helplessly, but he doesn’t fight it. He knows it is useless to fight it, so he lets it happen. He looks at Walter briefly, before casting his eyes down, looking small. Walter smiles fondly at him.

“Thank you, darling. Can you sit up?”

_… Why won't he just leave?_

“I guess that’s a no. Too bad. Look at me.”

Percival doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t know what will happen if he doesn’t obey. He tries to sit up, using his elbows as leverage. He ends up leaning on one side, his lower back too painful to support his weight. Walter observes him; his red eyes, puffy lips and bruised skin. His shirt is in tatters. He is naked from the waist down, unable to stop the tremors wracking through him. “Look at you. This is who you are, in the end. Your titles, your name, what you’ve achieved. Nothing else matters when I can just do this. This is real power, Percival. Nothing else but this.”

Percival shrinks back when Walter makes a move to touch him, shaking his head wordlessly. _No, no, no._ Fortunately, Walter doesn’t insist, letting his hand fall. He gets up, and Percival watches him mutely as he dresses himself while whistling. Percival feels a violent spark of hope bloom within him. _He's leaving._

“Oh, dear,” Walter says, tapping his index fingers against his mouth thoughtfully. “I almost forgot.”

The man turns to look at him, clad in his three piece suit while Percival is still a dirty mess on the floor. Come to think of it, Percival thinks distantly, his clothes look much too expensive for someone of his rank.

Something he hadn’t noticed due to his earlier exhaustion, and the lowlights of the MACUSA at night.

A different type of fear fills his heart. He doesn’t bother trying to hide it.

“W...Who…?”

“Oh, you figured it out? I must have been too kind with you, if you can still think.”

Graves shakes his head again, feeling so cold. He tries to get up slowly, ever so slowly, and all the while Walter watches him. Percival shudders at the feel of something wet dripping down his thighs - too thick and hot to be lube or semen.

“Who are you?” His voice is hoarse, barely audible. Walter steps closer and smiles at him, that mocking expression back on his face.

“ _Revelio,_ ” Walter murmurs.

Under Graves’ very eyes, the young, attractive blond man falls off, revealing the achingly familiar visage of Gellert Grindelwald.

Graves falls to his knees, his vision darkening, and as panic overtakes him he thinks he hears Grindelwald’s laughter.

-

 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it, I'm really interested in your thoughts. Feedback is my only reward for this work. You can also come say hi on my tumblr :)  
> @thegaypumpingthroughyourveins


End file.
